


i forgot how good it was

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Compartmentalization, Dissociation, Floris | Fundy-centric, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Sad Floris | Fundy, Spy Floris | Fundy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All of Fundy's actions in the name of Manberg have been easy for him to do.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127
Collections: Anonymous





	i forgot how good it was

Fundy does not cry when he sets the flag of L’Manberg alight. In fact, it’s probably one of the easiest things he’s ever done. One click of the flint and steel and the flames began to spread, eating through the fabric. It was easy for him to watch as flecks of ash rained down like snow around the flagpole, easy to ignore Niki’s distant, anguished scream as he roared of a new era.

It was easy to pretend he didn't see Eret frantically pouring water on the flames, easy to walk away.

The moment that Schlatt offers him a promotion, a step up in the world, responsibility and trust, his own father denies it. Wilbur says that he’s too young, too inexperienced, and all Fundy can think in the moment is that this is what his father really thinks of him. Wilbur thinks of him as unworthy, and in that moment, Fundy can’t help but be bitter. Can’t help but wish he was there to see the devastated look on Wilbur’s face as he denies him, reveling in just how easy it is to pretend that he was just another citizen to Wilbur.

Besides, the promotion is a new direction, at least he hopes. Fundy knows what they all think of him. He knows that the blank, calculating stare that Awesam levels him with as they stand in the center of that empty, fake house is only there because Fundy has somewhat of a reputation of robbing the hell out of people. Sly as a fox, crafty and cunning and light-fingered. Lock up your chests and hide your valuables, Fundy is coming to visit.

He won’t deny it, when he needs something, he takes it. So yeah, he steals, he scams, he lies. So yeah he rigged the election in his favor. It’s not like he didn't know he would be caught, not like he didn’t know he wouldn't win, wouldn't come in last and fail to prove himself worthy of leadership, worthy of promotion and prestige and trust that was by his father granted to Tommy instead, who, unless Fundy is somehow incorrect in his assumption, is a sixteen year old boy and _not Wilbur’s son._

He doesn't fault Tommy though, he’s a good kid with a good heart, who, when he devotes himself to a cause, devotes himself entirely. Tommy throws himself into L’Manberg, heart and soul. Fundy understands why he’d be trusted with that sort of responsibility despite his brashness. Tubbo too, dedicating himself to the cause.

It’s almost painfully obvious that Tubbo is passing information to Pogtopia, what with the way he just about openly galavants about with Tommy and Technoblade in his spare time. He never even wanted to be Schlatt’s Secretary of State in the first place, held back by confusion and the constraints of the situation, his instinctual unwillingness to abandon the nation he had fought so hard for, the home he had built. Above all, he probably didn't run for the same reason that Niki didn't run. That Fundy didn't run. Nobody started shooting at them.

Fundy knew that tearing down the walls of L’Manberg, despite the act going against everything the boy stood for, didn't convince Schlatt of Tubbo’s innocence. In fact, if Fundy is right, Tubbo’s willingness to do so probably solidified any notions Schlatt might have had that Tubbo is a spy, given Tubbo’s initial fear and reluctance to come when called, his attachment to Tommy. 

Still, Fundy has the most fun he’s had in a while hunting Dreamons with him, wearing matching suits and building tents. They get to goof off together, take a moment away from the pressures of Manberg and of their own self-imposed responsibilities. 

Tubbo has mostly left Fundy to set up for the festival himself, for now, and Fundy’s okay with that. Decorating helps Fundy to focus all of his nervous energy, building and designing, tearing down and rebuilding the decorations and the cover of the stage. It’s nice being given a responsibility, even if that responsibility is just rebuilding a stage for a festival and maybe adding a few umbrellas and chairs and such. He knows that Tubbo will probably help out some more later, but for now, Fundy is building alone.

Fundy starts with blackstone, building columns and a roof that slants down towards the front of the stage, intimidating and dark against the blue sky. He ends up experimenting with carpets of different colors, vibrant royal purple, bone white, and red the color of the ties that Schlatt wears. The purple slats he decides against, but he places white carpet around the edge and widens the landing strip of red carpet that runs down the center of the platform like a river of blood. With the wider carpet, he makes the chair at the mic bigger, more intimidating, and made of the same blackstone that comprises the meat of the awning above the stage, fit for the President-Emperor of Manberg. With the leftover purple cloth, Fundy creates banners that he drapes from the front of the stage’s awning, the royal wine-dark purple fabric evocative of men who called themselves Ceaser. 

He spends several minutes debating on how to put quartz extensions reminiscent of Schlatt’s horns upon the throne-chair that he built. He has two different plans, two different ideas, one positioned high against the chair, curling up towards the sky. The second pair is lower, less overtly intimidating, but the white contrasts well against the gleaming black rock. He goes back and forth, until he tries both at once, leaping down off the platform and into the currently-empty audience to get the full effect of the quartz, and it’s perfect— a stark reflection of just how intimidating Schlatt himself can be, imposing and oh-so-present as he looks at you with an expression that almost makes Fundy worry that Schlatt can read his thoughts.

After some consideration, Fundy steals magma, carving patterns of missing blocks into the magma floor he himself had replaced in a bout of mischief weeks before. The glow of the magma, backlighting the stage, throws the columns of it into relief as he sets it in place. As an afterthought, he lines the waterfalls with blackstone so that the water appears to run darker. He debated replacing them with streams of lava, but in the end, he felt that it would be just a bit too much. Over, he thinks.

The finishing touch to the whole intimidating affair is a large, black S positioned perfectly between the two waterfalls streaming off the edges of the raised platform. The vines he had brushed out of the way to set the letter in place, he carefully arranged back above the S in such a way that it appeared almost casual, natural. The obvious conclusion of an election fairly won.

If he focuses on the festival, focuses on the work he has to do for Schlatt, he can pretend that he never betrayed his family and country, that he never denied his father and burned the flag of the land he had fought so hard for. He could pretend that he wouldn’t run Schlatt through at the first opportunity, no matter how terrifying the man was.

Fundy does not think about the look on his father’s Wilbur’s face as Schlatt decreed his exile, or the sound he made as a lone arrow hit him true. He does not think about the hideout he knows is somewhere deep in the woods, the place where his father, Wilbur, the traitors are holed away, likely underground. He runs his thumb along the stone of the finished stage, dragging a single, pointed nail down the rough surface. Fundy doesn’t like going out and gathering new materials when building, using only things that already sat in his chests (as well as the chests of those around him) and in his inventory, and almost in a flash he realizes that the blackstone he used came from the walls he’d torn down himself. It almost makes him want to shudder, seeing that which once protected them turned into the stage upon which Schlatt will hold his festival, the first true event of the new Manberg. A show of power, of unity, of _happiness_ under Schlatt’s leadership.

It’s absolutely perfect!

Fundy steps back, staring up at the stage, and closes his eyes. His heart stings painfully, and Fundy feels like claws are being raked in the soft flesh of his gut, and he does not imagine Wilbur up there, dressed in his sharp blue coat with the gold trim, tricorn hat perched on his head in place of a beanie, the one to announce the commencement of a festival to honor L’Manberg. He does not picture decorations in the blue and red of the flag, white quartz and wood in place of blackstone. 

He doesn’t cry, no tears streak down his face, his breath never heaving out in short, sharp sobs stifled by his fist. His shoulders do not shake as he tries to slow his breathing, as he does not pull his knees to his chest, scooting to hide behind the throne where he’s less visible, wrapped in its dark shadow, the spiraling shapes of the horns cast in relief on the floor.

Not one part of Fundy grieves for everything lost, for the old L’Manberg, for the giddy days immediately after they won their independence, drunk on freedom and victory. Not one part of Fundy prays for the day he can run Schlatt through, the day he can turn around and betray him, make the man feel half as much pain as he’s made everyone else feel. 

It’s so easy for him to forget his own pain entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> idk if i made this clear enough byt the reason fundy hasn't told anyone is because hey! if they all actually hate him, they can't blow his cover!! but having no one to turn to to deal with literally everything is kinda screwing with his head


End file.
